Beyond the Horizon
by DaisyWillLiveForever
Summary: AU in which Voldemort won and Harry Potter is dead. Hermione Granger is desperately trying to survive the post-war world but the events of Malfoy Manor haunt her. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy is adrift in America. Prequel to 'You Again'.
1. Chapter 1

A/N- This is the prequel to my story 'You Again'. You could read them in either order, You Again doesn't have major spoilers for this story. (You Again is a Dramione story, but I must admit that this story has little-to-no Draco/Hermione interaction. Sorry!)

Title: Beyond the Horizon (I couldn't find a name that worked with 'You Again'... ah well.)

Summary- "Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Dead!" was the Headline. Hermione threw the paper down in disgust.

Warnings- Some mentions of rape, violence, child abuse

Disclaimer- If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be rich. I'm not rich, and I don't own Harry Potter.

xXx

Chapter One

Chapter One

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

_"Expelliarmus!"_

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided.

-(Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)

xXx

_Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, Dead!_

Draco Malfoy scowled at the headline printed in the Daily Prophet. How they even managed to write the article itself, he would never know. The Dark Lord Voldemort himself had just won, essentially, the entire war. The Daily Prophet shouldn't even be in operation, much less printing a new article about an event that happened just six hours before.

With a quick _Incendio _the paper was no more. Draco's mother watched his movements carefully from her seat across the Slytherin table.

"Draco," She muttered warningly as he swept the ashes beneath the table, "Whatever are you doing?"

"I didn't want to stare at that rubbish any longer," He replied in a similar tone. Pansy Parkinson, who was perched in the seat next to his on the bench, smirked.

"It's a bunch of prattle, isn't it?" Pansy declared regally, though the repressed laughter in her voice counteracted the effect. Draco scowled at her; she was too foolish and it was too early (it was actually around twelve o'clock, but that wasn't really important) to be dealing with such nonsense.

"I'm going for a walk," He bit out, pushing away from the table and making his way through the hall. He avoided the burnt remains of the other three tables and the dead bodies, which were covered in sheets in the far corner of the hall. It was mid-afternoon, and the world seemed to have reached a stand-still.

Harry Potter was dead.

The sentence kept running itself through his head, again and again. Draco didn't like Potter as a person, after all, but he was pretty much the only thing standing in the way of a power-crazed man. A man who threatened teenage boys and forced them to kill the Headmaster of the school in which said teenage boys attended.

As he rounded a corner, caught up in his thoughts, Draco nearly collided with several young students. They were huddled together against the wall, whispering quietly. They all glanced up with wide, pleading eyes.

"M-Malfoy," One of them squeaked, she couldn't have been more than a second year, "W-we didn't mean—"

Draco avoided them, skirting around their group with ease. There were young students everywhere, students who didn't have wizard families or who couldn't escape the premise in time. Voldemort had locked down the school, and by extension Hogsmeade, shortly after Potter died. He was currently on a mission, along with the majority of the Death Eaters, to find Granger and Weasley, who escaped. As far as anyone could tell, Longbottom, Lovegood and Weaslette were with them, but it was all speculation. Draco himself couldn't be bothered, he was too concerned with his mother for that.

She would be punished for the stunt she pulled in the Forbidden Forrest, that was for sure. She'd let Harry Potter live, if only for a short while. If Voldemort wasn't so preoccupied with chasing down a bunch of teenagers, he would've been punishing Draco's mother, along with the other blood traitors. The thought set him on edge.

Needless to say, Draco was not looking forward to when the Dark Lord arrived back at Hogwarts.

As he rounded yet another corner, Draco found himself faced with a half demolished corridor. There was no way he was going to be able to venture more than a few steps into the debris. Instead of turning back, however, Draco moved toward what was left of the large, open windows. He leaned halfway out of one, staring across the land and into the horizon.

It was almost peaceful, but the chaos that Voldemort had brought had left a mark on the earth. Creatures of all types were wandering across the scorched grass. Those Death Eaters that remained were corralling the injured into two tents near the edge of the Forrest; one for the mudbloods and blood traitors, and the other for the half and purebloods. Draco knew that it would be further divided later, halfbloods were a tricky sort of subject for the Death Eaters to handle.

Draco focused on the ground directly below the window so he wouldn't have to think about what was happening in those tents. There was a small pile of bodies against the wall. They were covered in a thick blanket of some kind, a bit like a tarp. A pale arm had escaped the wrappings and it hung limply against the dark stone. It was fascinating, that arm. Draco wondered who it belonged to; if the other one was marred with Voldemort's mark or if it was the same pasty-pale tone. If he squinted enough, and used his imagination, Draco could imagine dirt on that hand, a ring perhaps…

For a split second, Draco considered leaning over the edge a bit more. It would be… an accident. Yes, an accident. It would be so easy, to join those peacefully blissful bodies below. So, so easy, to simply let the struggles of this world go—

"Draco!"

Leaping back from the window sill as though it burned him, Draco spun around. Walking toward him was Blaise Zabini, a carefree smile stretched across his lips. There was something in his eye, a look of sorts, that made Draco hesitate to respond.

It was gone a second later, when Blaise said, "I've been looking for you everywhere, mate. Didn't know you liked watching the clouds pass,"

"I don't," Draco responded tightly, taking another tentative step away from the window, "I was bored of the mindless chatter with Parkinson is all,"

Blaise rolled his eyes, "You never had a problem telling her to shut it before,"

With a lack of something to say in response, the two fell into silence. Until—

"Is this about Crabbe?"

Draco visibly flinched. Ah yes, Crabbe. One of his only true, _albeit stupid_, friends was dead. Draco had nearly managed to forget in between the fighting and collapsing into bed out of pure exhaustion.

"I suppose so," He replied, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth furiously. Blaise sighed.

"He's in a better place,"

As ridiculous as the words were, Draco couldn't help but agree. Crabbe was in a better place, any place was better than here.

_Relax Draco, _a voice at the back of his mind commanded, _thoughts like that are what'll get you killed in your bed. _

"I don't know about you, but I'm celebrating. We won!" Blaise announced, smile appearing once more. Draco wanted to sneer at him, but he opted to smirk instead.

"Yeah, we did. Still have to take care of the Ministry though. And the rest of Potter's cronies,"

Blaise rolled his eyes, "I the Death Eaters can take them. Potter was their only hope,"

_Yeah, _another, quieter voice whispered to Draco, _he was the only hope for me too. _

"Whatever. He's dead, and their spirits will be easy to break without their precious savior," Draco spat out, but it wasn't as full of malice as he wanted it to be.

The two walked in silence for a while, until they were back at the entry hall. Draco headed toward the double doors that would take him to his mother, but Blaise stepped into his path swiftly.

"Draco," He muttered, eyes trained on Draco's. He found it difficult to look away from the intense gaze, "I'm going to visit my mother. She has a villa you know, in Italy. I was just wondering if—"

Blaise's sentence cut off as several fourth year Ravenclaws descended the staircase. He waited, with bated breath, as they passed into the Great Hall. Several seconds ticked by before Blaise began to talk again.

"Come with me," He stated abruptly. It was almost frantic, how the words were jerked from his throat unbidden. Blaise blinked in shock for a moment, and Draco could tell that he had not meant to speak in such a way.

It was tempting. But Draco knew he couldn't. Blaise, a loyal yet unattached Slytherin could slip away from the Death Eaters without much trouble. Draco wouldn't be so lucky.

"Thanks, but no. I need to help the Dark Lord,"

Blaise nodded, as though he expected such a response. The floor was no longer covered in rubies, Draco noted; someone must've swept them up. It was odd to think that house points were no longer important. If what Voldemort had said during the battle was true, Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were a thing of the past.

"When're you leaving?" Draco asked, mostly out of curiosity. Blaise shrugged, turning his attention to the large oak doors behind them.

"I dunno, when the Dark Lord gets back… I suppose…" He trailed off, a habit which Blaise had as a young teenager. Years in Slytherin, and learning how to arrange one's speech patterns so they appeared confident, eradicated it however.

Draco, curious as to what distracted Blaise so much that he couldn't complete his sentence, turned. The doors to the entryway of the school, which were previously locked and bolted, were dangling wide open. Standing in the frame, with their black cloaks contrasted against the bright blue sky, were the Death Eaters. At the head of the group was Lucius Malfoy, and beside him, Voldemort.

Draco swallowed. The Death Eaters were back. And they did not look pleased.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N- There are several variants from canon in this story (obviously), but a major one that I forgot to mention is that Bellatrix was never killed by Molly Weasley and is, therefore, alive. _

_I know this was a somewhat long wait for such a short chapter. The next one will be out next week (or so) and it will have Hermione in it (yay!) _

_Warnings- non explicit violence, character death_

_Disclaimer- I don't own Harry Potter _

Chapter Two

_Crack._

The loud sound cut through the forest, echoing around the trees. The pale morning light filtered through their branches, casting shadows on the lush green grass. Birds, which had been singing just moments earlier, fell silent. A rabbit in the center of the clearing ran for cover at the loud noise.

"We need to set up wards." Came a tired voice from the huddle of bleeding teenagers.

"I'll get started." Another weary voice whispered in reply, and a boy with a shock of matted red hair pulled a wand from inside his cloak. He muttered incantations, walking around the perimeter of the field with a countenance of experience.

The birds began to sing to one another again, and soon the forest was full of life once more. The only addition was the sound of sobbing, and of blood dripping to the ground.

xXx

Evening fell. The Death Eaters that had gone after Weasley and Granger were holding a private meeting; not even Bellatrix, who had been asked to stay behind to man the school, was allowed in. Draco was sitting—unwillingly, mind you-outside the tilted stone gargoyle. His aunt was leaning against the same wall on the other side of the entrance, and was currently picking something out from under her fingernails.

"So, Draco," She simpered, crazed eyes meeting his, "What do you think of your mother's betrayal?"

"Betrayal?" Draco feigned ignorance, blinking at her in an attempt to mirror her child-like curiosity, "What are you talking about?"

"Blatantly lying to our Lord, of course. About that Potter brat." Bellatrix's tone turned sour, eyes narrowing venomously. Draco stared at her, face blank.

"That is between our Lord and my mother, don't you think?" He replied with an equally poisonous undertone. Bellatrix did not reveal the fury that was surely simmering inside her, instead cackling loudly.

"Yes, yes, of course! How could I be so silly! After all, 'Sissy must've had a good reason for acting like such a dirty blood traitor, right Draco?!"

"Right."

Silence fell, heavy between them. The stone gargoyle, which had been still for nearly six hours, jumped aside quickly to reveal the moving staircase. Voldemort descended, wiping his blood stained hands on his cloak. Draco swallowed the lump in his throat, falling into step behind his aunt. There were shuffling footsteps from behind him, but Draco knew it was just his father and the rest of the Death Eaters. No doubt they had been punished in some way or another.

As curious as Draco was about Granger and Weasley, he was glad he didn't have to endure six hours alone with the raging Dark Lord.

They descended the many staircases. Those paintings that had not been slashed or abandoned during the fight gasped as they passed. Several of the women fainted inside their frames. An elderly man, whose portrait Draco had passed many a time but had never bothered to read the plaque, cursed rather violently.

Several students passed by them, cowering in fear. Voldemort paid them no mind, although Bellatrix was throwing out _Crucios _like it was Christmas. Draco was almost grateful that only the older students were brave enough to venture the main corridors—if a younger student was to be cursed in such a way, Draco thought he might lose his lunch.

When they reached the main hallway, Voldemort came to a halt. Bellatrix, followed by the Lestrange brothers and Draco's father, glided to a halt behind him. The rest of the Death Eaters stumbled for a moment; they were not as in tune with their master's mannerisms.

"I admit, I was not pleased with the developments of last night's… battle," The Dark Lord stated coldly, "But I must say, there were several… _Highlights _which are notable enough… Draco!"

Draco felt as though his blood froze.

"Come here." Draco obeyed the command, stepping away from the rest of the Death Eaters and into Voldemort's view.

"I have a job for you, Draco." He crooned, eyes squinting as a sinister smile worked its way onto his face.

"My Lord?"

"Bring her in." Voldemort stated over his shoulder, and one of the masked Death Eaters stepped away from the rest. The front doors were opened slowly, and from the darkness beyond a struggling mass was brought into the corridor.

Luna Lovegood.

Unlike all the other dangerous situations Draco had seen her in (granted, there weren't many), Luna appeared genuinely terrified as she was thrown at the feet of Voldemort. Blood was smeared across her face, though there didn't appear to be a wound on her head. Her clothes were torn in several places. Eyes wide, she looked up at Voldemort. Gone was the dreamy countenance; in its place was a hard gaze and lips pressed together so close the edges were white. She was shaking like a leaf, however, which severely counteracted the effect she was going for.

Voldemort shifted back, one of his hands coming to rest on Draco's shoulder.

"Kill her." He whispered in his ear. A shiver of horror shot up Draco's spine.

He didn't want to kill her. Striking down another in the heat of battle was one thing. It was easy to call that defense. Or following orders, at least. This, though, this sort of thoughtless murder? This was wrong.

It didn't help that Luna was staring at him now with a look that was almost pleading.

"Go on," Voldemort hissed, "Kill her, Draco."

"Draco," Luna reached an arm out, which seemed rather difficult considering that they were tied together, "Don't do this."

For a moment, it was almost as though he'd been thrown back into the Astronomy tower a year before. It wasn't Luna begging him, but Dumbledore. Offering him a chance at redemption. Offering to help him unconditionally.

"You're better than this," Luna tried to scoot forward, but was yanked back by one of the Death Eaters—Avery?—by her hair, "You don't have to—"

"_Avada Kedavra_."

_"__I can help you Draco…"_

"Good, good." Voldemort was smiling again, and he kicked at Lovegood's body as he passed, "I'm sure the elves will have made us something to eat by now…"

Draco followed behind him silently, swallowing back bile when he passed by the limp form that had been so full of life just moments before.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N- I've returned from the dead! Sorry about the wait on this. It's been a busy past few months.

Warnings- None.

Chapter Three

Hermione woke to the sound of music.

She blinked sluggishly, and whatever dream (_nightmare_) she'd been having was forgotten. She rolled over, exhaustion from the day before lingering in her bones. Hermione wasn't sure when she had last gotten a good night's sleep—not that the rest she had was exactly _good. _It was better than nothing, though all she really wanted was to sleep in a proper bed again. The cots in the tent weren't exactly five-star material.

Not that Hermione had much choice. And she wasn't about to complain either.

Sighing, she rubbed her eyes and stood. The soft violin music was coming from the next room over; the kitchen. Hermione moved through the door way, and came face-to-face with Neville Longbottom.

Neville looked as tired as Hermione felt. His eyes were bloodshot but dry; he hadn't been crying in the recent past. His skin was pale, almost ashy. Neville smiled, or rather he quirked his lips upward in a dry gesture. Hermione patted him on the shoulder as he passed by.

He was the one who brought them here; to this forest in Germany. They had been fighting through Hogsmeade and into the Scottish countryside; and they weren't exactly winning. Voldemort had won, had killed Harry Potter for good this time and—_no don't go there, it's too painful to think about. _Neville created a portkey for them, and they fled.

_"__My Gran used to take me up here for camping trips sometimes." _He'd responded when asked how he knew of the quiet wooded clearing. Ron began to set up wards immediately, grumbling about Ginny tagging along. Hermione knew that he hadn't meant anything by it; he was just worried for her safety. There hadn't been time for debate as they were fleeing the castle, however, and now it was too late. Hermione could only hope that the rest of the Weasley clan was safe. Or as safe as anyone could be in the aftermath of their defeat, at least.

The four of them; Neville, Ginny, Ron, and her, were going to be alright for a few days. Hermione knew they'd have to find food and other supplies at some point, but for now they had enough to tide them over. Not much of it was fresh, but canned beans and dried cranberries were better than nothing at all.

So when she took a seat at the wooden table, she was surprised to smell bacon cooking. Ron was moving the sizzling pieces around a pan on the tent's stove top. He slid several pieces of it onto a plate, which was placed in front of Ginny. Ginny had been fiddling with the radio, which was the source of the soothing music Hermione heard from the bedroom. The redhead spared her friend a glance, but was quick to go back to turning the knobs and changing the volume.

"Thanks Ron…" Ginny said distractedly, her bottom lip clenched beneath her top teeth in determination.

"You're welcome Gin, I just… Hermione!"

Hermione smiled up at Ron, though it felt somewhat false, "Hey Ron. Making breakfast, I see."

Ron nodded, turning back to the stove top where the grease was popping in the pan as the bacon cooked, "Yeah, d'you want a piece?"

"Yes," Hermione said, "But where did you buy the bacon, exactly?"

"The muggle grocery store. Neville and I went before you two woke up. We used your muggle money, I hope you don't mind. The cashier only spoke German, which was somewhat awkward but—Ow!"

Hermione scowled as she whacked Ron upside the head with a wayward dishtowel and said, "You're a complete and total _idiot _Ronald! Have you lost your mind?! You cannot just prance into a muggle grocery store without disguise—"

"But we were disguised!" Ron defended, arms crossed over his chest. The bacon behind him had been forgotten, "I used a glamor to change my hair color and Neville made his nose look different. Nobody would recognize us, I swear!"

Hermione sighed, accepting the answer. It's not as though they could use polyjuice potion—that took weeks to prepare, as they'd learnt in second year. "It's fine, Ron. It's just been a long few days."

There was a beat of silence. Hermione knew what they were all thinking of; though no one wanted to speak aloud about it. About _him. _

Harry Potter was dead. For good this time. After everything they'd been through it just didn't seem _fair. _After losing practically everybody—Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Dumbledore, Fred, and countless others—it just didn't seem right that they lost Harry, too. Harry had given them hope that everything was going to be alright. He had proven twice that death was avoidable and that love conquered fear. Of course, the third time against Voldemort hadn't been as successful, which had left everyone stunned. Even some of the Death Eaters appeared confused; Harry was just supposed to win.

But he didn't. _They _didn't.

_But, _Hermione reasoned with herself, _War isn't fair. And we have to press on. It's what Harry would want. _

Such thoughts were quickly chased away by the sound of china on wood, and Ron drew away from the table with a small smile. "There's your bacon, Miss Granger," He said as he set the plate down in front of her.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley." She joked back, although her heart wasn't really in it. The smell of bacon, usually so delicious, caused her stomach to roll violently when it wafted up to her nose. She put a fist to her mouth, confused by her body's reaction. Forcing the feelings of nausea away, Hermione reached for the bacon and—nope, nope, nope. Not happening.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, drawing her attention away from the radio, "What's wrong?"

Not trusting her mouth, Hermione simply shook her head. Ron frowned over his shoulder.

"You alright there?"

"Not sure… she looks ill." Ginny pressed a cool hand to Hermione's forehead.

A gust of air blew through the tent flaps and carried with it the scent of pan grease. Hermione pushed the plate away with one hand; the other clamped firmly over her mouth. She slid out of the chair and away from the offending smell. Ginny had a wrinkle between her brows and a look in her eyes that reflected concern whereas Ron was glaring at the plate like it was Voldemort himself.

Taking several steadying breaths of the fresh air, Hermione no longer felt as though she would vomit all over the floor. She apologized, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me."

"It's alright," Ron swept the plate away and was washing it in the sink.

Ginny patted the chair where Hermione had been sitting only moments prior, "It is okay, Hermione. You haven't had food like that for a long time, I'm sure. You were just overwhelmed."

Hermione took her seat. Ginny placed a comforting hand on her back for a minute before turning back to the radio. The music had stopped, and was replaced with a faint static sound. Quiet fell over the trio, though it was not complete. Chirping birds could be heard from outside, as well as the occasional snore from Neville.

Suddenly, the flaps of the tent flew open—and with the wind came a flurry of feathers and talons. Hermione shouted in surprise; reaching for her wand as a reflex. The bird circled the ceiling of the tent several times before sweeping down to land on the table. Hermione recognized it as a barn owl, most likely a Ministry bird from its downtrodden appearance. Attached to one of its legs was a newspaper. If she had one guess, Hermione would have to say it was _The Daily Prophet_.

"They're mailing us papers now?" Ginny asked incredulously to no one in particular. She untied the paper from the owl's foot and glanced over it. She paled, and quickly pushed the paper away.

"Let me see." Hermione commanded.

"Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, Dead!" was the headline, in all block letters. She caught several sentences that made her stomach roll with a completely different emotion than nausea; _'The young Mister Potter put his friends and classmates in danger'; '—Wondering about the country'; 'attached to the late Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore'. _Hermione glared at it—it had only been two days! It was ridiculous that a _Prophet_ article had been published so quickly, especially with Voldemort in control of the Ministry and the press. Hermione threw the paper down in disgust. _How dare they?! _

"'Mione?" Ron approached her, hands up. His gaze followed hers, to the paper on the floor. He grabbed it up, and began reading it. His face grew darker and darker as his eyes flickered over the article, and the frown on his face was inching toward scowl territory when Hermione came to a sudden realization.

"Ron," She gasped, breathless at the thought that occurred to her, "We never received the _Prophet _before, on the run, right?"

"Um…" Ron drew his attention away from the paper, "No, I don't think so. Why?"

"Well, what if… what if they assigned this bird to find us?"

"I'm not following." Ron stated flatly.

"I am," Ginny said to Hermione, "They put the paper on the bird, tell the bird to take it to Ron Weasley or Hermione Granger or whoever, and it leads them straight to us! But how would our wards let this bird into the tent?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe because the bird itself doesn't have bad intent?"

"That could work," Ginny placed a pensive hand on her chin, deep in thought, "They would've had to put a trace or something on it, to find us. But our wards should prevent them from finding us. We're safe. Right?"

"I'm not so sure." Hermione reached for the paper, which was still held in Ron's grasp, "It doesn't make sense—"

But her thought was interrupted by the familiar popping sound of apparition outside their tent.

Someone had found them.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N- A chapter. A miracle. The words are synonyms. _

_For anyone reading Into the Past, I've begun to edit the chapters and I updated the first chapter. (I reread the first A/N I ever made on that chapter and I'm embarrassed at 14-year old me.)_

Warnings: Some angst

Chapter Four

The Slytherin dormitories were dark, dank, and, seeing as creatures from the lake could swim by to peer at sleeping students at any moment, they were also extremely creepy. To Draco, however, they had been home to him and his fellow classmates for seven years. So sleeping in the same bed he'd had since he was eleven should've been easy. Yet Draco couldn't seem to get comfortable beneath the warm, green blankets.

The faint green glow of the lake from the window cut through the darkness Draco's bed hangings created. He tugged at them harshly; they were supposed to keep light out. They were _obviously _not doing their job.

After a moment or two, Draco gave up. He flopped back onto the pillows, staring up at the dark canopy. He was tired, oh so tired. He rolled onto his side, curling an arm under the pillow. The new position did not help him get to sleep any faster.

He just couldn't stop… _thinking. _About Harry Potter and his blasted death. About Voldemort's victory. About his mother and what she risked by helping Potter, even in the smallest of ways. About the future and what it held. Such thoughts caused a tightening in his chest and a spike of overwhelming anxiety that clouded his mind. He didn't want to help Voldemort; but he was in far too deep now to run away.

Except…

Regret coursed through him; he could've gone with Blaise to Italy. He _should've _gone with Blaise to Italy. The opportunity had been right in front of him, damn it, but he cast it away without thinking. He could be in another country by now, under the guise that he was spreading Voldemort's terror across the country with Blaise. No one would suspect him to be skirting his responsibilities all together; at least, no one would at first.

He would find a way to get around it. He always did. Except not this time. This time, he'd chosen to be gallant, to stay with his family. Draco Malfoy had opted to remain under Voldemort's thumb, if only to be sure no harm would come to his mother and father.

But he wished he hadn't. Draco _wanted_ to be weak. For the first time in his life.

Damn it all, if only he'd taken the opportunity when he had a chance.

Draco paused his mental rant, backtracking quickly. An idea had wormed its way into his head, a cowardly, horrid idea.

"Another country…" He whispered aloud, "Another country…"

Forget faking his Death Eater duties. What if he faked his own death? He'd need a body, or at least part of one. He'd want to make the body unrecognizable, but still obviously be him; suicide wasn't an option because polyjuice didn't hold after a certain period of time and glamors faded.

He wasn't getting any sleep tonight, but now he had a reason as to why. Draco Malfoy settled back against the plush pillows, and began to scheme.

xXx

Hermione, Ron, and Ginny stared at one another for a moment that seemed infinite. Ron still had the offending paper in his hand, Ginny was staring at the tent flaps as though Voldemort would make an entrance any second now. Hermione knew her own eyes were probably as wide as saucers.

Ron reached for his back pocket, pulling out his wand. Hermione copied his actions, though hers was in a much more sensible place (a holster on her upper thigh, beneath her nightgown). Ginny was edging toward the divider between the kitchen and the bedrooms, probably to alert Neville. Hermione could hear her breathing from where she was standing; Hermione had forgotten that Ginny hadn't been in such a situation before. As opposed to Ron, Harry, and herself, when they'd been taken by the snatchers and taken to Malfoy Manor.

_Malfoy Manor…_

Hermione physically shook her head. There was no need to be thinking of that right now.

Ron approached the edge of the tent cautiously. He pulled the flaps back, peering into the early morning dawn with caution. Suddenly, a wide smile broke across his face and, without warning, he darted from the tent and into the open air.

Hermione, surprised, hissed frantically, "Ron! Ron where're you going-? Ron!"

She too peered out of the tent and was appalled at what she saw. Ron was letting some of the wards down because, standing outside their little bubble of partial security was Percy and Charlie Weasley. Hermione balked at Ron's apparent lack of a _simple common sense _because this could be a trap set up by the Death Eaters. Ron would never consider stopping to think such things through when it came to his family, it would seem.

However, when Charlie and Percy finally stepped through the invisible barrier and threw their arms around Ron, Hermione allowed herself to relax a little. They had a brief conversation, and Hermione could hear Ron's laughter from where she stood. She took that as a good sign, and lowered her wand slightly.

The three brothers walked from the edge of the clearing to the edge of the tent. As they drew closer, Hermione could see the way their smiles cracked their faces wide open. Hermione knew that with the losses they'd endured, any moment with family or friends should be cherished.

Charlie, Ron, and Percy approached the tent flaps; but were stopped by Hermione's outstretched arm. She shot them each withering looks; as though she wanted to be happy to see them but wasn't. She then extended her wand, which was pointed at Charlie, and said, "In my first year, what type of dragon was sent to you—"

"Woah, woah, woah!" Ron exclaimed, rushing up to Hermione, "I've already done that."

"Oh," Hermione felt owlish as she responded, "Well, go on in then."

"Hermione." Percy greeted with a small, awkward smile. Hermione thought of how she'd last seen him, during the battle. Joining his family to fight, casting spells against his former boss and colleagues, mourning Fred. Percy had always been a prat, and despite her admiration toward his determination for school, Hermione never liked him much as a person. But seeing him like this; glasses askew, clothes torn, with tired eyes that reflected some unspoken emotion that Hermione saw in the mirror every day since December—all this made him seem better, somehow.

"Percy," She smiled, "Charlie."

Charlie punched her arm playfully as they passed. Ron reached for her hand, which Hermione took willingly.

Ginny and Neville were standing on either side of the tent flaps, wands held aloft, clearly anticipating an attack. Neville nearly attacked Ron as he walked in, but he skidded to a halt upon realizing who it was. Ginny threw her arms around her brothers and, without a word passed between them, they all sat at the table.

"Did you send this?" Ginny couldn't hide her curiosity. She held up the previously abandoned paper, one of her eyebrows raised in a questioning look. Hermione thought it was an amusing sight.

Percy and Charlie shared a look before turning back to the rest of the table. Charlie said, "Yes, we did. It was mum's idea, actually. We weren't sure how to get in touch with you otherwise."

"That's great, but couldn't you have sent a letter or something?" Ron's tone was curious more than accusatory.

Percy sighed, "A paper is less suspicious than a letter—a letter could be intercepted and read."

Charlie nodded in agreement, "Yeah. Plus, we wanted you to read the article on the front cover."

Ginny grimaced, "It's only been a day; how did they publish it so fast?"

"I dunno," Charlie's answer was earnest, "it's all Ministry propaganda, of course. It's slanderous and mostly untrue."

Neville took the paper from Ginny's hand and began to read the article. His expression grew angrier and angrier as he went on—his mouth turning downward in a nasty scowl. When he was through it looked as though he would never smile again.

"This is some real bullsh—"

"Yeah, that's what we think too," Percy cut in quickly, "But the Ministry's all run by You-Know-Who and his cronies now, or at least most of the departments are."

"I can't believe it," Hermione heard herself say, "What has this world come to?"

Ron, who had never let go of her hand, began rubbing soothing circles on her palm. She smiled thankfully at him—the motions had a calming effect on her.

"Yeah," Said Ginny, "Fred's dead, Vold—I mean, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is alive, the Ministry's overrun (though that's been going on for a while), and H-Harry's… Harry's _gone. _And for what?" Her voice broke, "For _what?" _

Charlie reached for his sister and Ginny practically fell into the hug. She had smothered herself against his shoulder, but muffled sobs could still be heard. Nobody looked at one another until Ginny gathered her composure and sat back in her own seat again. Hermione couldn't blame them; her own eyes were feeling a bit misty.

Percy cleared his throat; never one for emotional displays, "Well, I'm glad we escaped when we did. Many younger students that had not evacuated are still trapped in the castle."

"I thought they got away, Disapparated out of the village?" Neville voiced what they were all thinking. Hermione found herself looking at the two older Weasley brothers for an answer.

Charlie, mumbling at the table, as though he was ashamed—as though it was _his _fault, muttered, "Many weren't able to leave due to the confusion of the battle. Though I doubt the Death Eaters will hurt them—"

"I wouldn't put it past them." Ron muttered darkly.

"—We can't be sure." Percy finished evenly.

"What're we going to do about them?" Hermione asked suddenly, overwhelmed with the thought of innocents who hadn't evacuated or been able to escape stuck in the castle.

"We don't know." Charlie said honestly. Hermione knew this wasn't the answer he wanted to give; the worried look in his eyes was proof enough of that.

Neville turned to Percy and spoke, "What do you mean, you don't know? We can't do nothing!"

Hermione found herself nodding in agreement. It would be wrong to leave students alone without hope.

"They have the teachers." Percy commented, always sensible, "The Death Eaters won't dare harm any children who are under McGonagall's care."

They all chuckled weakly at that. Hermione wasn't convinced, but she didn't want to say otherwise. They had people "on the inside" so to speak—McGonagall was only one example. They'd rather die than let innocent children get hurt. But them dying was actually a real possibility, and then who would look after the children?

Ron's voice drew her out of her thoughts, "So, where're the others?"

His question was earnest, but Hermione could see the reaction it drew from Charlie and Percy. They first glanced at each other, and then at opposite corners of the room. Charlie began running a hand over his mouth, obviously a nervous gesture of some kind. Percy on the other hand was blinking furiously; not to hold back tears but as if to will away something he didn't want to think about.

"Mum and Dad wanted to come, but we convinced them otherwise," Percy said at last. His blinking continued. "They just lost a son and needed some sense of safety—to bring them here would be reminding them of everything that happened. They would be happy to see you of course, but it would also remind them of the turmoil you four have to deal with."

"George didn't want to move after we got to the safe house." Charlie informed. Hermione felt very sympathetic and sorrowful toward the whole situation; nobody deserved to lose a twin, and Fred had been her friend as well.

"And Bill had to go home. To check on Fleur you know." Percy added.

There was a moment of silence after that. Nobody seemed to know what to say.

Suddenly, the owl that had been perching on the back of an armchair nearby, took flight. It flew toward the table, intelligent yellow eyes focused on the flat surface. It skidded to a halt on the table top, talons digging into the smooth wood for some sort of traction. Hermione winced at the scratching sound the action produced. The owl righted itself, and peered about the group of witches and wizards as though it had just realized their existence.

Percy reached a hand out as if to pet the owl, but it snapped at his finger instead of welcoming the gesture. Nobody else tried to touch the owl, which—in Hermione's opinion—was a very smart decision.

"Not a friendly bird, is she?" Neville said.

"No. She's our Great Aunt Muriel's." Charlie provided, as though that was the only explanation needed for the bird's behavior. Ron seemed to agree, because he nodded his head in a very serious manner.

"So, what do you lot plan on doing next?" Percy asked.

"I dunno, actually," Answered Neville. It was the truth; he'd never travelled with them before. He didn't know about the time spent searching the country for pieces of Voldemort's soul. Or at least, not the specifics of it. And, come to think of it, neither did Ginny.

But it didn't matter that they were in the dark, because so were Ron and Hermione. They both knew that they had no idea where to continue with their lives.

Finally, Ron said, "Neither do I."

"I wish Harry was here." Ginny added in a small sort of voice.

"Me too." Hermione whispered.

The silence that followed was as long and stifling as a summer's day.


End file.
